


Something So Small

by B_Frizzy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Celebrations, Christmas, Family, Family History, Family Secrets, Holidays, Judaism, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Frizzy/pseuds/B_Frizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles and his father settle down on Christmas evening, his father has a special gift for him: a Star of David, and the story of how his Jewish heritage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something So Small

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this little piece! Before you head on in, I want to say that I was inspired by a piece of fan art that I found on tumblr. I'm poop at literally everything, so I can't embed the link, but here it is:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://herosterek.tumblr.com/post/135077258633/soupstain-a-commission-by-tumblr-user-fusers>  
> 
> 
> I was OBSESSED with this art. I couldn't get it out of my head. It just made so much sense that Stiles would be Jewish to me. So here's my little ditty about him learning about his heritage. 

Stiles and his father sat in the den of Stiles' childhood home. Since he went off to college, time together for the sheriff and his son was rare. Even though it had only been a few months since the young Stilinski had left for UCLA in the fall, the two weeks of Christmas break seemed like a wonderful reprieve from the quiet that had fallen over the house. For Stiles, it was nice to be out of the loud, crowded halls full of students (not to mention getting away from classes and homework).

They fell into an easy routine of meals and happy conversation between the sheriff's shifts at the station. Stiles would talk about his classes, his professors, all the people he met at school; his father would talk about the new drama happening in Beacon Hills, and all of the things he was happy Stiles wasn't involved in, for once in his life. They chatted about Scott and Melissa, briefly about Derek, even about some of the others who had spread across the country for school. Being away from home made Stiles truly appreciate how amazing his father was; he wanted to fit in as much face time as he could before he had to leave again.

A large, glittering Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, packed full of mismatched ornaments. It had gone up the first night Stiles got home, in a frustrating flurry of pine needles and tinsel. Neither of the Stilinski men were very keen on the tradition, but Claudia had been, so every year they made sure to decorate the house fully in her honor. Almost all of their celebration was in her honor.

The sheriff always made sure to work a long morning shift on Christmas morning so that the deputies with families and younger children could have a good celebration. While he was at the office, Stiles spent the morning baking cookies, simmering wassail, and frosting dozens of snowmen and reindeer, trees and candy canes, stars and little sugar cookie mittens. 

Christmas night was reserved for memories and presents, just Stiles and his father. All diets were forgiven and the sheriff was allowed to eat as man of the bright, happily decorated cookies as he wanted. They shared their favorite stories of Claudia as they ate. It was the only time of the year when remembering Stiles' mother was happy, joyous. It was a new tradition they made, just for themselves. They always had a standing invitation to the McCall's to celebrate, but never took them up on it. Christmas was a time for them to spend together, as father and son, sharing their favorite memories.

Stiles always liked to talk about the year when his mom toppled over the entire tree when she was trying to put the angel on the top. It had been a hilarious sight, with little ornaments scattered all around the floor, and the entire tree rolling around on top of Claudia laughing so hard tears were running down her face. That was the last year they had an angel (or tree topper, period) on top of the tree. No matter how many times he told the story, he could always laugh at it. There were still a few ornaments that survived, chipped from that night.

The sheriff liked to share older stories, memories of Christmases from before Stiles was born. Stiles thought he had heard them all, but that night, the elder Stilinski recalled a night when, as newlyweds, both Claudia and a young John had fallen asleep with the Christmas ham in the oven, waking up to a tiny apartment filled with smoke. They didn't have a fire extinguisher, so they threw the ham, pan and all, out the third floor window and out onto the street. They laughed until they had tears running down their cheeks.

When the glasses of wassail were drained and the sheriff had moved on to a healthy glass of bourbon, it was time to open gifts. The two never bought each other much, just small things. Stiles watched in excitement as his father opened a new multi-tool with a carabiner hook (Stiles had walked in on his father trying to open a beer with his teeth), a pocket knife, and three pairs of thick work socks. The sheriff loved utilitarian gifts and had been complaining for months about his old, worn out socks.

As his father was admiring his presents, Stiles eagerly opened his own haphazardly wrapped boxes. His father had gotten him a new knit beanie, a heavy pair of boots that Stiles knew would last his entire time in school, and a leather messenger bag with a laptop pouch built in. He lightly touched the soft leather, but didn't say anything about how expensive the bag must have been compared to their usual exchanges. He knew that his father felt bad that he couldn't contribute more to the exorbitant tuition that Stiles was paying (well, wracking up student loans to pay for). 

With a long swallow of his bourbon, Mr. Stilinski pulled a small rectangular package from the cushions of his recliner and handed it to his son.

“I have one more for you.”

Stiles turned it over in his hands, considering. The small present had been wrapped more carefully than anything he had ever gotten from his father. The gold paper was folded exactly. What could this fourth present be, so small and attended to? Something else school related? 

While he had torn into the other gifts, Stiles carefully ran his fingers along the paper's edge, pulling carefully up on the tape so he didn't tear anything. For some reason, it felt important. As the gold wrapping pulled away, a black jewelry box was revealed. It looked like something that would usually hold a necklace. Stiles eyed his father, but the sheriff didn't give anything away. Unable to fight his own curiosity, he flipped open the box. Inside was an old, battered looking Star of David. 

“Uh, well, I'm not really sure...” Stiles scratched his head absently. It was clear that the pendant was old, but for the life of him, Stiles couldn't think of any reason why his father would be giving him a Star of David, antique or not.

“It was your mother's. She wanted you to have it. In time.”

Confused, Stiles touched the thin gold star. It was on a delicate chain, the contrast between the new gold of the links and the worn down pendant extremely evident. One of the points looked as thought it had been bent at some point, laying at an awkward angle. In all his years, he had never once heard his father talk about his mother being Jewish. His mother certainly hadn't, either. So why, now, was he holding a Star of David that had belonged to his mom? Why did she have it? He looked back up to his dad.

“Mom wasn't Jewish.” It wasn't a question. Stiles would have known something, anything about it. Hell, they wouldn't be sitting there celebrating Christmas if that were true. But for some reason, the sheriff was nodding solemnly. 

“She was, Stiles.” He had a small, gentle smile on his face.

“But she loved Christmas. She dragged us to church every Sunday. How could she have been Jewish?” Stiles could hear the childlike petulance in his voice. He wasn't giving the best arguments, and he certainly wasn't talking to his father like the adult he was, but he would have known something so important. He should have.

“Stiles, do you remember when you were thirteen and explained to me for an hour that Judaism is the only classification that is a religion, a race, and an ethnicity at the same time?”

Stiles did remember. It had been the summer between seventh and eighth grade, and it was the first time he had gotten lost in research. He started out looking up the difference between Hispanic and non-Hispanic, and ended up there somehow, totally in awe. How could one thing describe a person in three different ways? At the time, Stiles had stomped off, back to his giant encyclopedia, thinking his father didn't understand why he was so excited about his discovery. Clearly, he hadn't gotten something if he wasn't as excited.

As it turned out, he had some insider information. Readjusting on his chair, the sheriff looked lovingly at his son, who was eying the pendant again. His odd, accident prone, argumentative son. He could see the confusion blossoming over the features that reminded him so much of his wife.

“Why didn't I ever know about this?” For some reason, Stiles felt like he was missing a huge part of himself, not knowing such a huge piece of information about his mother. Not just that, but about his history. A piece of his history that was linked with his identity. Why hadn't his father said anything? There had to be a reason, right?

The sheriff sat his bourbon aside and focused only on his son. “Well, when you were young, your mother thought it would be too hard to explain. Not just the whole Jewish/not Jewish thing, but about why her parents left Poland. She thought it would be scary.”

“...And you want to explain it now?” He was hopeful.

“I thought it would be a good time, since you were taking a class on World War Two this semester.”

Stiles was taken aback. It was true that he had taken a World War Two class his previous semester. He had begrudgingly decided to major in history when his advisory forced him to choose. Just to spite the withered old woman, Stiles had picked some of the more obscure classes that fit in to the degree plan (all of which he enjoyed immensely, of course). But he had never expected the classes to have any real life application. 

“I, well, yeah. I was. I did.” 

The sheriff slowly sat up. “Tell me about Poland in the 40s.”

Stiles furrowed his brow. He figured his father wasn't asking for a lecture, just a general answer. “Well, Germany occupied it from one side and Russia occupied it from the other. Arguably, they got one of the shi... crappiest deals in the whole thing. Millions of people were killed, mostly just because they were there and the soldiers were bored. So, you know, not good.” 

It was the understatement of a century, but Stiles wanted to get on with the conversation. “What does that have to do with Grandma and Grandpa Bukowski? You can't be saying that they were alive in the 40s.”

Stiles tried to do the math in his head. If they had been alive in World War Two, they would have had to be very old when they had his mom, even if they were barely toddlers during the war. He was part of iGen, how in the world could his grandparents have been part of the World War Two generation? It made his head hurt to think about. But again, his dad was doing that frustrating nodding thing. 

“I am. You know your mother and I had you older than most couples. Well, so did your mother's parents. They were nearly into their 40s by the time your grandmother got pregnant. Your mom was their miracle girl.” The sheriff took a quick sip of his drink, eying the quickly emptying cup.

“Woah, Grandma was a serious fertile Mertyl.” Stiles' eyes went wide. Babies were terrible, he couldn't imagine trying to take care of a baby at 40, or a ten year old at 50, or a teenager at 60. That was a seriously terrifying thought.

“This is my necessary dad interlude to say you come from two very fertile families and while you are now a legal adult who can have sex, I would like to remind you to use protection every time. You can barely take care of yourself, let alone a baby.”

Stiles suppressed a shudder and held up a hand. “Dad, that is so, 100% unnecessary. Please promise me right now to never give me anything that could in any way resemble a sex talk ever again.”

It was bad enough that he had the original, incredibly awkward birds and bees talk. But that had shortly been followed by a talk with Scott's mom, then a lecture on the necessity of men being feminists, then an even more awkward talk about the bees and the bees (or the birds and the birds? Stiles never really understood the analogy). Any more an he may actually strangle himself.

The sheriff rolled his eyes at his son. “Whatever you say. Anyway, they were older. Your grandparents knew each other as kids; they were next door neighbors. When they were 17, it was 1941. The war was raging all around them, and millions of Jews in Poland had already been killed. Your grandmother saw how terrible things were getting and saw no future for them there. She said she prayed and prayed, wearing that star of David there. After a day of praying, she went to your grandfather and said they needed to leave Poland or they were going to die, too. 

“They trusted what she heard in God and found someone who would smuggle them out of the country. They left with only what they could fit in one suitcase and made their way here, to America.”

Stiles sat, silent. He thought back to all of the stories he had heard in his World War Two class about families who had been killed during the occupation of Poland. Millions upon millions of people were slaughtered. Jews were killed just because they existed, just because of who they were born to be. His grandmother was right, they would very well have been killed, too. It was a miracle that they found a way out. And it was a miracle that they had made it in to America; the immigration policy was so strict at the time. All of the things that had to line up to make it possible for them to survive were astonishing. Once again, Stiles carefully ran his fingers along the small star.

His father gave him a moment with his thoughts, and the Star of David. He knew that the information was a lot to take in. For decades, there was a huge portion about his own history that Stiles didn't know. When Claudia had the conversation with John, several months after they began dating, he was confused. That was just months, though, and just a girlfriend. 

“Anyway, once they settled in, they tried as hard as they could to fit into the neighborhood. That meant going to church with everyone else. They hadn't converted, and still celebrated religion in their own way at home, but didn't want to seclude themselves from their new friends. That's why your mother celebrated Christmas, and always made us go to church. She went with her parents growing up. Church to her was being part of the neighborhood. It was cultural.”

Carefully pulling his son out of his thoughts, the sheriff put a steady hand on Stiles' shoulder. He made eye contact. “I want to apologize son, because it's my fault that I've put this off so long. You would have understood all of this 5 years ago, maybe longer, but I'm afraid I wasn't ready then, even if you were.”

Stiles felt tears well into his eyes. All of the confusion and hurt seemed to fade away, seeing how much it meant to his father. It was so much more important than he realized, and so much less. He closed the jewelry box and set it carefully on the arm of the couch. With a muffled “thank you,” he lunged at his father, pulling him into a tight hug. It didn't take long after that for them to call in an early night. Stiles pretended not to notice his father carry the bottle of bourbon up to his room with him. He would be smuggling bottles too, probably, if he could drink on his Adderall.

Instead, he laid in bed, considering. How much really changed about his life, now that he knew his mom was Jewish? That he was Jewish, really? Stiles was the same person, but he felt like he should be someone else, or at least try to be. That felt so disingenuous, though. It struck a bad cord with him. His parents had made a choice on how to raise him, and that didn't include this part of his heritage. That meant more to him than anything else could.

His father also hadn't chosen to tell him about this until sooner. In a way, it made sense to Stiles. This was a private and special part of his mom that belonged only to his dad. It was something he got to hold near to himself and didn't have to share. After all, he lost his wife, the love of his life, and the mother of his son. It was like the memory his dad had shared earlier, about the burnt ham; some things were personal, and weren't meant for sharing. Stiles was grateful, though, that his dad had finally shared this, even if he had intended to do it sooner.

Stiles pulled the small box off his bedside table, where it had made its way before he got ready for bed. There wasn't much light filtering through the window, but it was enough to see the Star of David, nestled in the black velvet. With its worn gold, it was so easy to picture his grandmother running her fingers down the knots of the star, hoping for answers to come to her. Stiles traced them himself, and he could swear he felt heat coming of the metal, as if someone else had just touched it. 

Stiles had never been religious, despite his mother's strong urging, but he had never gotten out of the habit of praying. Through the best times and worst times, he found himself whispering thanks and pleas to the silence around him. When Scott had first been bit, Stiles found himself praying for the first time in years, and never really stopped; there was too much happening. But he had never prayed with something or to someone specifically.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles pulled the small star from the box. He carefully wound the chain in his palm, taking the pendant between his thumb and forefinger. It still felt so much warmer than it should have, as though someone had put it in his hand, instead of lying in a box. Deftly, Stiles counted the corners, starting with the one nearly bent out of shape, rotating the star in his fingers.

He cleared his throat. “Usually I pray to ask for help or guidance. There's a lot of, you know, crap that goes on in my life. But not right now. I wanted to say thank you for everything I have. My friends and family are wonderful and so supportive. And I have so much love that sometimes I think I'll explode from it. But of course I won't, because that'd be ridiculous.

“And thank you, Mom, Grandma, Grandpa, for always looking down on me. I'm absolutely amazed by all of the things that had to happen to make me... well, to make me exist. Even the littlest bit different, and I wouldn't be alive, and that's mind-blowing amazing. I'm lucky in so many ways, and I'm very grateful for that. Hopefully, I can live up to the expectations you have of me. Or, at least I hopefully don't screw up too bad that you're ashamed, because that would suck.”

He considered a bit more. “Oh, and grandpa, now that I've lived with your name for as long as I have, I just want to say I'm so sorry. How did you do it?”

Instead of putting the necklace away, he latched it behind his neck, fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar clasp. A combination of the weight and the words made him feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. It just felt right, having something so special to his family close to his heart. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

From that day forward, the pendant became part of Stiles. He never took it off, even to sleep or shower. In the days following Christmas, if Scott noticed, he didn't say anything (though Stiles was shirtless at one point due to a terrible hot cocoa accident while gaming). Stiles didn't bring it up, either. Even if he could figure out a way to bring it up in casual conversation, Scott always seemed to get doe-eyed and stumble over words when his friend talked about his mother. 

The sheriff didn't bring it up again, either, though Stiles did catch him staring at the gold chain several times over breakfast. As time wound down until the spring semester began, though, they both got more accustomed to it. 

By the time the next holiday rolled around, Stiles could feel more than just the thin links and the worn gold in the necklace. With every small shift, he could feel his mother's presence with him. Ever press of the warm pendant told him that his grandparents were there watching over what he did. It was such a small reassurance that brought him more comfort than he ever could have imagined. On nights when he was stressed over school, or life, he held the warm star in his hands and thanked his family for everything they had given him.

Stiles felt right. He felt whole; he never knew something so small could make such a huge impact in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I based the math (Stiles age vs his parents age vs his grandparents age) on myself; my mother had me later in life, and my grandmother was alive during the Holocaust in Germany. There aren't a lot of us out there, but a couple!  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Happy holidays, everyone.


End file.
